


Stay With Me

by subcutaneous7



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subcutaneous7/pseuds/subcutaneous7
Summary: An attack on MI6 leads to repercussions abroad, putting Miranda Priestly in danger and forcing Andy Sachs to reveal her true identity. DWP/Skyfall crossover. Mirandy femslash.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CulturePopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CulturePopper/gifts).



> I started writing this fic six years ago as a gift for my girlfriend, who is now my wife. This week, I finally finished it. The temptation to have M and Miranda somehow linked was far too great to pass up. I don't own any of these characters, but I have so enjoyed playing with them. It's sort of a crossover, sort of an AU, but the characters are all still very much as they appear in the films...with some very fun exceptions. I want to thank the Mirandy fandom for all the beautiful stories you've given me over the years. This was the ship that my wife and I first bonded over (no pun intended) back in the day, and I'm happy to finally make a little contribution. Thanks so much for reading. Please let me know what you think in the comments if you feel so obliged. Enjoy! (:

Three months had passed since Paris, though sometimes it felt like much longer. Andy sat at her desk just outside Miranda’s office, staring at the grey December sky. She thought back on how close she had been to giving it all up.

_“I can’t do it anymore, M,” she growled as she stormed past the fountain at La Place de La Concorde. “She’s just…”_

_“Your responsibility,” M shot back through the phone. “Do you mean to tell me you walked?”_

_“She’s crazy!” Andy cut in again. “And vicious. No one in their right mind could…”_

_“If you don’t hang up right now and return to your post, I will give you up on the spot. You’re a junior agent, for God’s sake. Do you think we give everyone 007-level assignments at the start? Your scores were barely passable for fieldwork. If you want this life, you must pay your dues and climb the ranks. Now have I made myself clear, or should I scour your name from the record?”_

_Andy stopped walking. She took a deep breath and sat for a moment by the fountain, removing her ungodly uncomfortable heels and rubbing the soles of her feet. She bit her lower lip as her fingertips grazed the thick blister forming against her heel._

_“You’re right, M. I’m sorry. I’ll go back.”_

_She could almost feel M smiling on the other end. For as hard-assed as the Chief was, M could also be quite warm. She’d taken Andy under her wing, given her a chance when others might have passed her up as too damaged_ _—_ _and certainly too pretty_ _—_ _for this line of work._

_“Look, Andy, I know this assignment comes with its own brand of dodging bullets and close calls. If anyone understands how difficult Miranda is, it’s me.”_

_Andy smirked, shaking her head as she sighed._

_“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re her mother.”_

_“Well, someone had to do it I suppose. Might as well be a woman accustomed to being in the line of fire.”_

_“I won’t let you down, M. I promise.”_

_“Enough jabber. Get back to work.”_

_The phone clicked. M was gone._

And other times _, Andy thought,_ there’s no doubting they’re related.

_She marched back inside, past the barrage of photographers still perched along the staircase, and found Miranda. Andy’s heart pounded as she prepared to face what she knew would be a brutal scolding, if not an all out fight to prevent herself from getting fired, losing both her undercover and real life jobs._

_She kindly apologized to those seated for blocking the view, squeezing down the tight aisle of chairs in the front row. As she plopped down next to the silver-haired magazine maven, her leg accidentally brushed against Miranda’s. The sensation of satin against satin sent shivers down Andy’s spine, adding to the chill that was already there._

_Miranda looked up at her, apparently shocked to see her assistant had returned. Andy was startled by the mix of anger and resignation leering back from those icy blue eyes._

_“I...I’m so sorry, Miranda,” Andy whispered through the pounding music. “I…well, suddenly I felt very sick, and I didn’t think you’d want me throwing up in front of all those people and cameras, so I…”_

_“Please,” Miranda didn’t so much shake her head as tilt it to one side briskly, returning her eyes to the runway. “You’re a writer. I’m sure you can do better than that.”_

_“Ex…excuse me?”_

_Refusing to make a scene but needing to be heard, Miranda picked up the phone sitting in her lap, pattering away at the keys like they were attached to the detonator of a bomb, and hit send. Seconds later, Andy’s phone buzzed in her lap. She read the text:_

_Since you’re apparently even less adept at reading between the lines than I had imagined, I’ll fill in the blanks. You decided you’d had it with me, with this life, and were halfway to the hotel to pack your bags when you, for some unknown reason—career panic, fear of poverty no doubt—thought you could waltz back in like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t made a fool of me on the steps as I turned and realized I had been speaking to myself for the last thirty seconds. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong._

_Andy turned brighter than beet red. Shockingly for a spy, she had never been very good with small lies. She was much more skilled at large scale subterfuge. That said, fearing she didn’t have much to lose at this point, she decided to meet Miranda at her level._

_She leaned a little closer, bringing her lips just inches from the older woman’s ear. Miranda flinched very subtly, but did not move away._

_“Look, I told you what happened. You can either believe me or not, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_When she pulled away, she noted Miranda’s chest heave slightly beneath her dress as she exhaled. Andy looked away quickly so as not to be seen staring at her boss’s cleavage, but stole a glance back at her face moments later. The slightest hint of a smirk spread across the editor’s lips as she continued to lock eyes on the models stalking before her one by one, bringing her hands together in faint applause._

_Not another word was exchanged as they made their way through the crowd to the car. The silence continued all the way back to the hotel. Before Andy could tuck herself in that night, she checked her email one last time and was not at all surprised to see a message from Miranda containing a very long list of things for her to do on the plane back to New York and well after they returned. She sighed, relieved at the realization that she would keep her job, even if it meant a significant uptick in the torturous trials Miranda would sick upon her._

_James Bond himself would sweat under these conditions,_ Andy groaned _._

And so the time since Paris had been just that: torturous, tedious, tense. Miranda pummeled her with one ridiculous request after another, all of which Andy met with the tenacity of someone willing to do anything to prove herself again. Emily delighted in the hellfire Miranda bestowed upon her second assistant, considering it proper punishment for Andy getting to go to Paris instead.

And yet, from Andy’s perspective, Miranda wasn’t all daggers and explosives. When they were stuck together in close quarters, like in the car, Miranda treated her with a heavily veiled though undeniable respect. _Maybe there is something to be said for standing up to her?_ Andy thought. It didn’t stop Miranda from outwardly treating her like the lowest of all peasants in her kingdom, especially in front of other people. But there was definitely an underlying understanding that Andy was not afraid of her anymore, and somehow, that changed things.

“Andrea,” Miranda called from her office.

Emily chuckled beneath her breath as Andy straightened out her cashmere sweater, adjusting her skirt before making her way to the editor’s desk.

“Yes, Miranda?”

“Coffee.”

Miranda didn’t deign look up from her desk during their exchange.

“Be right back.”

“Mm.”

Andy quickly made her way to the coat rack, but just as she was about to leave, the phone rang.

Not her desk phone.

Not her Runway cell.

The phone she kept buried away beneath a folder in one of her drawers. The phone she’d almost forgotten about in the months she’d spent toiling away at that godforsaken place. The phone that only rang if…

Andy sprinted back to her desk, throwing open the drawer, scrambling for the device as Emily looked at her with equal parts ire and pity.

“What _are_ you doing!?” Emily whispered loudly.

Andy glared back. Miranda was, as of yet, unaware of what was unfolding.

“Yes?” Andy answered the shrill call, keeping her voice low and steady.

“They’re coming,” M’s voice trembled.

“Here? Now?”

“Andrea,” Miranda called again from her office. “Who is that? Why aren’t you at Starbucks?”

“Yes. There. Now,” M confirmed. “You have your instructions. Hurry.”

The line went dead. Andy dropped the phone on her desk and took a deep breath. She was ready. She had to be.

Seconds later, just as expected, she heard screams from the hallway near the elevator. Several shots were fired. More screaming.

“Oh my god!” Emily cried as she dropped beneath her desk.

Andy threw open another drawer and grabbed the 9mm she had stored there nearly a year ago. Then she made her way into Miranda’s office.

Miranda, still unfazed, lost in her own world of editorial malaise and caffeine withdrawal, finally looked up.

“Andrea, what is all the…”

She froze.

Andy spun around and faced two armed men with automatics pointed at both her and Miranda. Without a second’s pause, she raised her weapon and shot them both, direct kills. She turned back to Miranda, who was still catatonic and had flushed several shades whiter than the blouse she was wearing.

Andy shot past her boss, blowing out the windows just behind Miranda’s desk. This time, Miranda flinched, and before she knew it, Andy had pulled her to her feet and was wrapping a leather belt around her waist, strapping their bodies together.

“Andrea,” she managed through tightly clenched teeth. “What on…”

“There’s no time.”

“How…”

“Miranda, I need you to trust me!”

“But...you’re just…”

Andy grabbed Miranda around the waist and pulled her towards the window.

“No!” Miranda screamed, struggling to escape Andy’s arms. “This is unacceptable. I will not…”

Just then, another man in black barged into the office.

Andy shot him, pulled Miranda flush against her body, and without further hesitation, jumped.

* * *

 

Miranda nearly passed out as Andy expertly whipped them from one skyscraper to the next, latching on to a windowpane with her grappling hook. There was no time to think about what carnage lay strewn across the floor like discarded garments back at Runway. Was Emily okay? Was Nigel? Andy hated herself now more than ever for not being able to warn them. She had grown very fond of Nigel in particular, and if she were really being honest, many of the Clackers as well. Life in fashion wasn’t as bad as she’d once thought, save for Miranda’s relentless humiliation. She had just started getting used to that world, only for it to come crashing down in a matter of seconds.

Andy finally lowered them onto the sidewalk in an alley and undid their belts. Miranda was practically limp in her arms. She had never seen her boss so vulnerable. Quickly, she stopped a taxi and threw open the door, shoving Miranda in first. She directed the driver to take them back to her apartment, which she could only hope hadn’t been discovered by their attackers.

As they stepped out onto the curb, making their way inside the dingy, far-from-rent-controlled building and approached the elevator, Miranda finally spoke, clearing her throat as she leered at their surroundings.

“ _Where_ are we?” she growled unsteadily.

“Quiet,” Andy whispered, drawing her gun as they approached her floor. She kept a firm grip on Miranda’s arm and began slowly pulling her down the hallway, looking back over their shoulders every few seconds. It appeared to be clear.

“Andrea,” Miranda began again. “If you think I will allow you to drag me all over this city without any explanation as to what is transpiring, then you are far more…”

“Shut,” Andy put her hand over Miranda’s mouth and squeezed her arm even harder, digging in her nails a little for effect. “Up.”

She thought Miranda might try to bite her fingers, but the older woman acquiesced for the moment, at least until Andy was able to unlock the door and get them inside.

Once they were in, she let go of Miranda’s arm and gave her a look that meant “stay put.” Miranda did so without a peep as Andy checked every inch of the tiny flat for signs of intrusion. When there were none, Andy took a deep breath, threw her gun on the coffee table, and collapsed against the couch.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to picture her life if she had simply run away from M, like she had run from the orphanage, like she had done all her life until the kind British woman came to collect her. M had heard about a young girl living on the streets, stealing and scavenging to get by, impossible for police to catch and even harder for other criminals to fight. After months of tracking and some heavy persuasion, Andy agreed to go with M, who gave her a place to live, offered to put her through school, helped her hone her skills, and ultimately gave her something into which she could channel her energies.

Sitting at a desk at Runway, getting coffee and being throttled by Miranda seemed like insult upon injury after all the training she’d done and the commitment to turn her life around, but Andy understood these were the dues she needed to pay. She hoped it would at least begin to show M how grateful she was.

“My mother sent you,” Miranda asserted, approaching the sofa but refusing to sit. She had recovered from the shock and was starting to put the pieces together for herself.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Andy folded her arms. “But since you’ve said it for me, I suppose there’s no denying it.”

“You…” Miranda finally noticed the change in Andy’s voice. “You’re not even _American_? All that sappy talk about small-town Ohio...was a lie?”

Andy rolled her eyes, then stole another look at Miranda. She was struck by how hurt the older woman seemed to be, though it was masked by anger.

“Andrea...” Miranda finally sat. “If that’s even your real name. I demand you tell me what’s going on.”

Andy sighed as she brought her elbows to her knees and fingertips to her temples. There was no use hiding anymore. They were in the midst of the worst case scenario, and holding back from Miranda now might actually put her in even more danger.

“Several months ago, MI6 was attacked, as you might have seen in the news,” Andy began. Miranda begrudgingly nodded, though the brunette could tell she was hanging on every word.  “Your mother dispatched another agent to uncover who was behind the attack. He found it was a former operative, Raoul Silva, who for reasons unknown to me is bent on humiliating, discrediting and ultimately killing M. We believed his motive was strictly to come after her, but M feared he might also go after her family, even though you’re estranged. She sent me here to protect you.”

Miranda shook her head again as she stood, pacing.

“She believes I may be in danger, so she sends a _child_ …”

“I am not a child!” Andy lashed out, hating how immature it sounded. “You have no idea what I’ve been through or where I come from.”

“Well, from the sound of your accent, I can say with certainty it’s nowhere near where I come from,” Miranda snarked, smiling devilishly at her own barb.

Andy tried not to look affected, but the pink in her cheeks deceived her.

“Hmm,” Miranda chuckled. “Same old Andrea. So eager to please, so determined to appear more polished than you really are. Maybe you’re not so different after all.”

Andy felt her anger burn through her quickly. Miranda had always known how to set her on fire.

“Your mother warned me you’d be like this,” Andy shook her head. “She said you’d never allow an agent so close, never let your guard down. That’s why it had to be like this. Not only that, but as your assistant you’d never give me even the slightest bit of praise or satisfaction.”

“Is that so?” Miranda buzzed. “Did I not take you with me to Paris over Emily? Give you every opportunity to promote yourself when I didn’t need you? I took a chance on you from the very beginning.”

Andy sighed, turning away. Miranda scowled as she returned to the couch.

“Clearly my mother is nearing retirement. She didn’t even bother to think this through.”

“What do you mean?” Andy asked.

“How could she have been so sure I’d hire you in the first place?”

Andy swallowed the lump in her throat before turning her big brown eyes up at Miranda, glaring at her through long lashes and smiling just as sinfully as she had learned from the woman sitting next to her. Maybe, just maybe, she could win this one.

“Oh, she had no doubt it would work,” Andy breathed lithely.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” Miranda practically spat, though on some level she appeared to be enjoying their exchange.

Andy shifted a little closer. She figured her cover was already blown, and she needed to reclaim the upper hand. Her heart pounded as she prepared to unload the next round.

“She always said you have a type.”

Miranda’s face immediately fell, porcelain skin turning to stone.

She pursed her lips, and Andy could tell she was gritting her teeth so hard she was sure they’d chip. Very slowly, Miranda exhaled through her nose and stood, graceful as ever, before sprinting for the door.

“Oh no,” Andy sprang to her feet and lunged to block Miranda’s exit. “You’re not going anywhere.  _This_ is my job. Not Runway, not fetching your coffee or bringing you the book at any godforsaken hour. _You_. I get to look after you. And if you think I’m going anywhere, you really are as mad as I’ve always thought.”

This time, Miranda refused to make eye contact. Andy was standing so close, breathing heavily, much more outwardly affected than Miranda appeared to be.

Andy knew she’d hit on something the editor kept hidden more carefully than the name of her plastic surgeon, but surprisingly, there was no retort, only silence. _Why isn’t she denying it?_ Andy wondered. _Why doesn’t she fight back?_ Instead, Miranda simply backed away and moved towards the couch, where she sat very quietly, crossing her legs and folding her arms as she gazed out the window.

Andy watched her curiously for what seemed like minutes, until Miranda’s head snapped back towards her and the most horrific look of panic shattered through her feigned apathy.

“The girls,” she breathed, voice threatening to break. “My god, I didn’t even…”

“They’re fine,” Andy assured, joining her on the couch, reaching out and setting a hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

“No,” Miranda flinched. “I have to…”

Miranda tried to flee again, but Andy pinned her to the couch expertly, restraining her arms while keeping her legs locked down with one of her shins. Miranda closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips, looking like she might try to suffocate herself by refusing to breathe.

“Miranda,” Andy spoke firmly but softly. “The twins are with their father. And they have another agent looking after them, one of the best. They’re fine. M did not say anything to me about them being in danger.”

“How can you be sure?”

“She would tell me,” Andy insisted. “She knows how much they mean to you. And to me.”

“To you?” Miranda finally opened her eyes, swallowing hard when she realized the position they were in, Andy practically sitting in her lap. “What could they possibly mean to you? I thought this was _just_ a job.”

Andy rolled her eyes. She eased her hold on Miranda’s arms a little, and when the woman did not attempt to struggle, she let go, moving off to the side.

“I didn’t say it was _just_ a job,” Andy corrected. “I am a person. I do have feelings, something which you never seemed to take into account.”

Miranda continued to stare at her. Andy looked back, more defiant than she ever could have imagined herself being in the face of this…this…she didn’t even have words for her. The truth was, even though Miranda was infuriating, she did care for her on some level. She certainly didn’t want her to die, or the twins.

But beyond that, she wished Miranda was happy. She figured for someone to have such a sour exterior, there must be absolute misery brewing beneath the surface, some sort of block or unresolved trauma that prevented her from taking any real joy in life. Andy could relate to that in some way, though she was much better at putting on a happy face, or whatever face was required for the mission.

“Is that what you think?” Miranda finally whispered. “Are you really that blind, or do I honestly treat you so terribly you can’t see anything else?”

Andy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“What else is there?” she finally breathed.

Now it was Miranda’s turn to roll her eyes, smirking a bit like a person who’d just discovered their next move in chess, though far more resigned.

“Pity my mother thinks my type is rather dense.”

Andy tried not to let her jaw drop, leering back at Miranda, who apparently was willing to play the game.

She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. It was true: M had told her Miranda was bent on staying in the closet, afraid it would affect her image and thwart her ambitions. She’d always noticed her daughter’s attraction to girl-next-door-types, but Miranda refused to admit it. Her father’s strict attitudes may have interfered. Unfortunately, M stayed silent on the matter, and she and Miranda argued over too many other things to salvage their relationship. Soon after Miranda turned eighteen, she went to America to study. She’d very rarely seen her mother since, though they’d kept tabs on each other from afar.

Andy thought maybe it had all been in M’s head. Maybe it was her youthful determination, her bright-eyed, fearless confidence in Miranda’s office that first day that had gotten her the job. Maybe it was her fake references. There had to be some other explanation, considering how poorly Miranda had treated her since.

Except...maybe she hadn’t.

Miranda had given Andy more chances to mess up than she had given anyone else. She gave her more and more responsibility, took her to Paris, insisted she be with her on almost every errand, luncheon and assignment since they returned. Could the truth really have been there all along, right beneath Andy’s nose, and she’d simply missed it, too proud to consider the alternatives?

Andy shook her head and stood, refusing to drop her defenses just yet. She moved to the closet next to the kitchen and removed another 9mm and a rifle from the top rack. When she returned to the living room, she handed the smaller gun to Miranda, whose blush was still clear across her cheeks.

“I assume you know how to use one of these?” Andy asked.

The gray-haired woman finally looked up, almost dazed.

“Yes.”

“Good. I didn’t think M would neglect teaching you how to defend yourself.”

“She taught me nothing,” Miranda snapped back.

Andy raised an eyebrow. Miranda sighed.

“She was never…accessible,” Miranda continued. “I learned from one of the field agents she had look after me while she dealt with more important business.”

Andy almost felt sorry for her then. She knew what it was like to be neglected.

“Oh,” Andy responded.

“Helena Banks,” Miranda sighed. “On my eighteenth birthday, my mother sent her on assignment. She never came back.”

“Oh,” Andy reacted again, swallowing.

Suddenly, the walls Miranda had built around her heart seemed much more reasonable.

“I’m sorry,” Andy spoke sincerely.

“It was a long time ago,” Miranda replied, opening her weapon to check that it was fully loaded before locking everything back into place. She stood, facing Andy, refusing to make eye contact. Andy couldn’t help but smile.

“What now?” Miranda asked.

Just then, there was a violent knock at the door. They both jumped.

“Get behind the sofa,” Andy instructed.

“What about…”

“Do it now,” she ordered.

Miranda obliged much more readily this time, disappearing behind the couch, clutching the gun to her chest as she tried not to breathe.

Andy crept towards the door, knowing if there were more than a few men on the other side, they’d both likely end up dead. She took a deep breath and looked out the peephole, ready to fire, only to exhale a huge sigh of relief as she flung open the door.

“You’re alive!” Nigel threw his arms around her. Andy hugged him back tightly, biting her lip as she fought back tears, allowing herself a few seconds of normalcy

“Where is she!?” Emily cried out bloodily. “Mirandaaaa!!? Oh dear god, Nigel, she’s dead. Murdered!”

“Not yet,” Miranda reported as she stood shakily from behind the couch. “Though if you scream my name like that again, Emily, I might be forced to do it myself.”

“How did you two escape?” Andy asked.

“Apparently as soon as you flung yourself out the window with the target, they left,” Nigel reported. “I stayed in hiding until then. Emily saw everything.”

“You saved my life!” Emily shouted again, wrapping herself around Andy. “I can’t believe you had a gun in your desk! And how did you…”

“Enough,” Miranda silenced her. “Someone may have followed you here. We need to move.”

“She’s right,” Andy agreed. “Nigel, where’s your flat?”

“Across town, closer to Miranda’s.”

“It’ll have to do until I can get through to MI6,” she sighed, taking one last look around her apartment, not sure she’d ever see it again. “Come on then.”

“Wait!” Emily interrupted, looking wide-eyed at Andy. “You’re a bloody British spy!? How in…”

Miranda shot her with a look that might as well have been a slap across the face.

“ _Go_ ,” she seethed, and the other three obeyed the command, heading down the fire escape without another peep.


	2. Chapter 2

Andy picked up another burner phone before they arrived at Nigel’s, where she locked herself in one of the guest rooms to contact MI6. Meanwhile, back in the living room, Emily’s head continued to spin.

“Can you believe she lied to us all!? For a whole eleven months!” the redhead shrieked. “Oh my god. No wonder she isn’t interested in fashion, and she STILL got to go to Paris! A fucking chav spy…”

“Hey, that _spy_ saved your life!” Nigel growled. “The only thing you should be showering her with is gratitude, even if she is a member of the so-called ‘underclass.’”

“Ugh, you’re right,” she huffed. “Leave it to ‘Andrea.’ She’s not even a real person and she’s still Miranda’s favorite.”

Miranda cleared her throat from the heavy leather armchair across the room.

“She’s still _real_ , Em,” Nigel shook his head. “She may have a few more...skills...than we gave her credit for, but deep down, I’m sure she’s still the same Andy Sachs we all woefully fell for."

“Speak for yourself,” Emily snorted. “She’s just as obnoxious as she always…”

“Quiet!” Miranda scolded harshly. Emily almost jumped three feet in the air. Nigel finally took a seat. “Unless we are being briefed on our next course of action, I want to hear _nothing_.”

Emily swallowed hard. She began tracing the pattern on Nigel’s designer rug with the toe of her stiletto, digging into the plush, knees shaking with nerves as they waited for Andy to return.

“I don’t know why we’re even listening to her,” the assistant finally mumbled under her breath. “We may not even have jobs to return to once…”

Finally, the door opened. All three sets of eyes darted to Andy as she made her way into the room.

“Well?” Miranda prodded anxiously.

Andy sighed, leaning against the wall as she picked at her cuticles.

“I’ve confirmed it was Silva’s men,” she swallowed. “Fifteen Runway employees...were lost.”

“Oh my god,” Emily brought her hand to her mouth as she sobbed. Nigel stood, pacing furtively. Miranda pursed her lips, breathing deeply through her nose as she squinted at the light peeping through closed curtains.

“Names?” Nigel rasped, trying to remain calm.

“Not yet,” Andy shook her head. “Our operatives are on to more pressing matters. I’m afraid...M was attacked by Silva during a public inquiry.”

Miranda’s head whipped back towards the younger woman, complexion like a ghost as she kept her eyes steady, trying not to betray her fear, but failing.

“She’s alright,” Andy sighed. “Bond has her. He won’t allow anything to…”

“What about _us_?” Miranda recovered quickly with the knowledge that her mother was still alive.

“We, as far as I can tell, are safe. But I can’t be sure until I’ve heard from agents scouting the area that there isn’t another faction planning an attack.”

“What can we do?” Nigel asked.

“For now, nothing,” Andy breathed. “Except sit tight while we wait for the all clear.”

“Sit tight!?” Emily shrieked. “You mean wait until they come for us, like a row of fucking ducks sitting in the middle of a…”

“Emily, I will _incapacitate_ you myself if you do not shut up,” Miranda snarled.

Andy couldn’t help but smirk. The redhead recoiled, curling up against the sofa, covering herself with one of its fluffy cushions. Nigel, feeling sorry for her, sat down and began gently rubbing her back as Andy crossed the room to Miranda.

“The girls are safe,” she whispered, taking a seat on the ottoman. “They’re on their way to Boston with Greg.”

Miranda let out an audible sigh as she clutched her hand to her chest. Andy noticed the smallest of crystalline tears finally escape, trailing down the woman’s cheek.

“I distanced myself...from all of this...to protect them,” she exhaled. “Still...I always knew it was too good to be true.”

Hearing Miranda talk about her life as “good” struck a nerve in Andy, though not in a bad way. Perhaps the editor hadn’t been quite so miserable after all. Maybe her callous exterior came from years of trying to carve out a safe haven for her family. She knew better than anyone what it was like to live within an inch of fate, always prepared for someone to be coming for you, knowing the slightest slip up could mean death. Maybe Miranda’s control issues, her attitude, stemmed from a desire to preserve life rather than destroy it.

“Well,” she sighed again. “There’s no use second guessing myself now.”

Andy reached out boldly, wiping away another tear. She ran her thumb against the shockingly smooth skin beneath Miranda’s eye, along the edge of one sharp, ivory cheekbone. Miranda’s breath caught at the gesture, though she barely flinched, batting her lashes as she continued to maintain her reserve.

“This isn’t the end, Miranda,” Andy spoke softly. “A tragic setback, yes. But everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve built is not lost. Runway will continue to thrive once this is over. And as for M...maybe there’s still time for you to patch things up.”

The older woman looked down into her lap at Andy’s hand, now resting against her knee. She swallowed.

“Things may go back to the way they were,” she whispered. “But they’ll never be the same. Not with so many people gone. So many pieces of the puzzle missing.”

Andy wondered for a moment if Miranda was grieving more for the death of her employees or the amount of work their loss would create for the magazine. She chose to believe the former.

“You’re right,” she shook her head slowly. “It won’t be the same, but even so...we’ll get through it.”

“ _We_?” Miranda scoffed. “My, Andrea. You really do commit to the part, don’t you?”

Andy’s mouth fell open a bit.

“ _Andrea_ ,” Miranda continued to muse. “If that’s even your real...”

“It is now.”

“And before?” she continued to push. “And after? When you return to London and leave...all this...behind. What will you be called then?”

Andy narrowed her eyes at the silver maven, shifting a bit on the ottoman, leaning back against the adjacent wall as she crossed her arms.

“I’ve been ‘Andy’ for a number of years,” she clarified. “Even before coming to New York, it was my chosen name.”

“I see,” Miranda noted.

“You’re the only one who’s ever called me Andrea,” she continued. “At first, it annoyed me, but now...I rather like it.”

“It’s more dignified,” Miranda concurred. "Perhaps it will help open other doors, other avenues. Unless you prefer serving under my mother's domain."

"M doesn't own me," Andy shook her head. "She's given me everything I have."

"She's given you everything you _think_ you can have," Miranda corrected, cocking her head to the side. "I know how she operates. The people she takes in, recruits, are those who don't appear to have other options. You do."

"How do you..."

"You're capable of more," Miranda told her, looking anywhere but Andy's eyes, as if it would somehow hide the fact that she was being kind. "You've proven that much."

"You think being assistant to an editor of a fashion mag's a better gig than being a spy?" Andy gawked.

Miranda rolled her eyes.

"By all means, Andrea. Continue galavanting across the globe for the rest of your life, wasting your intelligence fighting evil that will always come back tenfold, only to someday die for a cause that has nothing to do with you," she took a deep breath. "Or, you can come to terms with who you really are and stop running."

Andy continued to shake her head, angry and terrified all at once that somehow, even through the guise of being a naive all-American girl from Ohio, Miranda could get so close to figuring out who she really was.

"You're one to talk," she finally bit back. "Or does living your life jumping from one loveless marriage to the next, working yourself so hard your children barely see you somehow equate with 'coming to terms with who you really are?’"

Miranda trembled at the accusation, knowing it was true.

"We're more alike than you'd care to admit," Andy continued.

Miranda's cheeks were red. She wanted to turn away, but couldn't afford to lose an ally at this juncture, and truthfully, it was clear she didn't want to.

"Are you going to continue protecting us in _that_?" the older woman changed the subject, scanning the ensemble Andy still sported.

"Good point," she almost laughed. "Swinging from the scaffolding in a skirt was a bit of a stretch."

"I'll say," Miranda sniffed. "Thankfully, your stockings were the only casualty there."

Andy looked down at her knee, realizing for the first time that the nylon was ripped, revealing skin a little bruised and bloodied.

"Nigel must have something," Miranda offered on his behalf.

"I don't think anything from The Closet's going to fare much better than this," Andy noted. "But I'll check."

"And get something for that," Miranda continued to order, gesturing towards the wound. "We don't want it getting infected.”

"Yes, Miranda," Andy smirked, blushing as she went to seek Nigel's assistance.

Minutes later, the spy and the art director returned triumphantly from his wardrobe.

“I had a few sample sizes lying around,” he quipped. “Secret agent or not, you’ve still got it, Six.”

Andy grinned, despite the somberness of the occasion, twirling a little in the black leather pants, turtleneck, and knee-high boots she donned.

Emily continued to harumph, crossing her arms as she sank into the couch.

“Are those men’s Dolce and Gabannas?” Miranda critiqued from her place near the window, giving Andy’s trousers the side-eye, pretending she was only half interested.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Nigel noted.

Finally, the editor turned her full gaze to Andrea, allowing her eyes to trail up and down the slender woman’s form. Andy swallowed, a dull ache welling up defiantly in the pit of her stomach.

“They’re loose in the seat,” she continued as she perused. “Not so flattering.”

“And yet you still looked,” Andy retorted cheekily.

“That’s _my job_ ,” Miranda exhaled through her nose, running a finger against the white flip of her hair. “If I can’t be of use, I may as well...”

“Point taken,” Andy nodded, noting the crimson flush making its way down the older woman’s neck.

Miranda bore into her with slightly dilated pupils for a moment before turning back to face the window.

“We need to split up,” Andy sighed, taking one of the guns she’d brought with her and checking it for ammo before handing it to Nigel. “Promise you won’t use this unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“You’ve got it,” he swallowed.

“Where are you going!?” Emily finally sat up, panic-stricken.

“Miranda is the target. By staying here, we’re only putting you and Nigel in danger. She and I will proceed to the MI6-CIA checkpoint while you both stay here.”

“No!” Emily challenged. “You’re not going to leave my life in Nigel’s hands! And why does he get the weapon?”

“Because he’s not the one screaming his head off like a bloody imbecile!” Andy finally snapped. “Now, I’m trusting you to look after one another. Do you think you can manage?”

She hated to be mean to Emily, knowing that for anyone not familiar with a life of danger, this whole situation had to be a nightmare. But she also knew from watching how the assistant took orders from Miranda that the only way to keep her anxiety in check was to be blunt and demand respect.

“Emily?” she asked again, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Fine,” the redhead sighed. “What choice do we have?”

“Better here than at your place,” Nigel scoffed.

“Sod off,” Emily spat.

“Please don’t kill each other,” Andy shook her head. “I have faith in you.”

Miranda snorted from across the room.

“Come,” the younger woman called to her former boss.

Miranda took her time gently pushing up from her position, smoothing out her grey pencil skirt and white button-down blouse, before joining Andrea near the door. Andy handed her the 9mm, keeping the larger gun for herself.

“Put that somewhere inconspicuous,” she directed.

Miranda stared at the gun, then down at her own body, before looking back up at Andy incredulously.

Andy sighed, taking a deep breath and biting her lip. Before the editor could object, she grabbed the gun, then pulled Miranda towards her. Reaching her arms behind her body, she tugged at the waistband of the older woman’s Prada skirt and very carefully slid it down the back, tucking it beneath her undergarments for good measure. Miranda’s face burned as she allowed Andy to situate the device just so, making sure it was snug against her buttocks, tucked in such a way that it would not be visible.

Andy’s breath landed against Miranda’s cheek, a few strands of hair falling from her updo, tickling her skin. Miranda rolled her neck as she sighed, moving ever so slightly away from the touch of Andy’s fingertips against her waist.

“How does that feel?” Andy asked, her voice deeper than usual.

“Not exactly pleasurable,” Miranda sighed back, eyelashes fluttering over hooded lids. “But I suppose it will have to do. After all, you’re the expert.”

“Right,” Andy smirked, blushing wildly as Miranda continued to eye her. “Are you ready, then?”

Miranda shrugged, though she appeared willing to go along with the plan.

“Alright,” Andy turned back to Nigel. “There are agents posted around the block. If anything should happen…”

“We’ll be fine,” Nigel smiled as genuinely as he could.

Andy leaned in for a warm, generous hug from her friend, before turning to Emily.

“Thank you,” Emily sniffed reluctantly.

“Of course,” Andy smiled sweetly, and she and Miranda were on their way.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where are we going?” Miranda finally asked, stepping onto the curb.

“Back to midtown,” Andy responded as she flailed her arm, signaling for a cab. “The checkpoint’s located near there.”

“Joy,” Miranda shook her head.

Finally, a yellow taxi pulled up and the two quickly hopped in.

“Forty-second and fifth, please,” the spy instructed. The cabby nodded in agreement before pulling into traffic.

Andy let out a deep sigh as she leaned back against the stale leather seat, cigarette-burned and slightly sticky. She adjusted her weapon before stealing a look over at her companion.

“How are you holding up?” she asked. It was the first time she could ever remember initiating conversation in a car with the editor, who typically preferred silence as they traveled across the city.

Miranda did not respond at first. Andy stared at her, watching as the older woman breathed rhythmically, appearing much more like herself than she had in hours, stoically gazing out the window while gently tapping her fingers against the seat between them, legs crossed. Not having had time to grab her sunglasses before they fled, she squinted slightly against the sunlight, eyes appearing to penetrate her surroundings with the critical glare for which she was so infamous. She pressed her lips together, licking them slightly, brushing off whatever thoughts held her attention as she slowly shook her head, looking down at her fingertips.

“I don’t know,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

Andy couldn’t remember ever hearing her say those words. She swallowed.

Taking another risk, she crept her own fingers towards Miranda’s, gently laying her hand on top of the other woman’s, letting it melt softly against her icy skin. She felt every muscle in Miranda’s body tense through the tiny tendons in her hand before giving in to the touch, allowing herself to be comforted.

Andy began moving, arching her hand ever so slowly, tracing her fingertips across Miranda’s knuckles, then down to her nail beds, back and forth, as if her hand were engaged in some sort of vinyasa, melding and connecting until the temperature of their flesh aligned. Miranda’s breath became only slightly labored. She looked away from their hands, as if she were only passively allowing this to continue.

“I’m so sorry, Miranda,” Andy whispered back.

The editor flinched, but maintained their position.

“Apologies aren’t necessary,” she spoke pointedly, though her tone had softened. “You’re not to blame for this.”

“No, not to blame,” Andy shook her head. “But still...part of something you obviously want no part of. It must be terrifying.”

Miranda took a deep breath in. She appeared to be chewing her lower lip, making quick decisions, thinking, before giving in to the exhale, and at the same time, allowing her fingers to curl, moving her hand at one-quarter the speed of Andy’s, but moving nonetheless. Their fingers softly slipped against each other as Andy remained on top. Miranda’s hand arched, as if together, they were kneading the leather beneath them.

“This was inevitable,” Miranda sighed.

“Still, I…”

“You are the only reason I’m alive,” Miranda interrupted, soft yet forceful.

Andy swallowed again, trying not to allow her emotions to get in the way of her judgement, her need to stay focused on the mission, but clearly, she’d already crossed the line.

“I won’t forget,” Miranda continued. “No matter what...or where...you choose to be when this ends.”

Andy looked up to the roof of the cab, forcing her tears to stay put, even as she breathed deeply through her nose. Forgetting everything else for a moment, she slowly shifted her hand beneath Miranda’s, allowing their palms, their pulse points to meet. In that instant, she allowed herself to imagine she was never an orphan, never a spy, but rather, the child of loving, concerned parents, who had moved to the big city to find herself, becoming Miranda’s assistant, and now, by some stroke of insanity, holding her hand in the backseat of a cab as they rode through Manhattan.

“Stop,” Miranda spoke aloud, startling Andy, who pulled away immediately. “You’ve gone past it.”

Andy quickly realized she was speaking to the driver, but nevertheless, felt the adrenaline rush through her body as she was thrown back to reality.

The cabby did not respond.

“Excuse me, sir,” Andy chirped. “I said forty-second and fifth, now you’ve….”

Without warning, he pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it back at Miranda through the small opening in the glass.

“Those are not my orders,” he barked.

“Andrea…”

“Stay calm,” Andy told her, mind racing to come up with a solution as feverishly as it could. “Lower your weapon!”

He continued to ignore her.

“Did you hear me? I said…”

The man shot through the roof, a warning.

Miranda lurched, gasping as her grip on the door handle tightened.

Andy checked to see if the editor was wearing her seatbelt. She wasn’t. With no other choice, she raised her right foot into the air, kicking the gun from the driver’s hand, causing him to fire between them as he swerved. Andy reached through the hole in the glass, choking him from behind, digging her fingernails into his neck as he lost control of the vehicle.

“Grab it!” she ordered, pointing to the gun shifting around on the floor beneath their feet.

Shakily, Miranda picked it up and handed it to Andy, who immediately shot the cabby in the back of the head, blood spattering against the windshield and flickering back against them in the backseat. The women braced themselves as the car barrelled up onto the sidewalk and finally came crashing into a dumpster, throwing both their bodies against the seats in front of them.

Thirty seconds or so passed as Andy attempted to remain conscious, shaking off her injuries amidst the sound of steam escaping the demolished front fender, along with the trickling sound of gasoline leaking against the pavement. She grunted, grimacing as she pulled herself up, then looked over to the other side of the car. Miranda lie slumped against the leather, blood dripping from a gash on her forehead, eyes closed.

“Miranda!” Andy growled as her adrenaline surged once again. She checked Miranda’s pulse, breathing a sharp sigh of relief that it was still there. Assessing her body for wounds as quickly as she could, she finally kicked past her, opening the door, grabbing the woman’s shoulders as she pulled them both onto the sidewalk.

“Miranda!” she yelled again, this time shaking her carefully but insistently, continually checking her pulse, which was stronger than she could have expected. Slowly, the older woman’s eyes began to flutter open. She immediately pinched them closed again, no doubt feeling the effects of whatever injuries remained to be seen.

“Miranda,” Andy called a bit more softly. “Wake up.”

Miranda groaned a bit as she shook off the pain. She sat up a little, taking in her surroundings as she came to.

“What…” she began to ask before noting the cab, slowly recalling their predicament. “Oh…”

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine…” her breath continued to be shallow, even as she pushed all the way into a seated position.

“No you’re not,” Andy retorted. “Neither of us are. Now come on.”

Andy pulled herself to her feet and then reached down, grabbing Miranda under the arms, to which the older woman acquiesced begrudgingly. She continued to moan in pain as Andy balanced her against her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on her waist as they limped towards the street.

Suddenly, shots were fired from other side of the alley.

“Fucking hell!” Andy shrieked as she flung them down again, behind another dumpster. She let Miranda lie propped up against the brick wall as she peeked her head around the edge of the container, aiming and shooting until she hit her target.

“We need to move!” Andy whispered furiously. “Can you...do you think you can…”

“I can,” Miranda nodded, not super convincingly, though she pushed off her Ferragamo heels, abandoning them as she prepared to run.

“Alright,” Andy continued. “When I say go...”

Miranda’s pulse continued to quicken as she waited for the signal. Andy fired a few more shots before waiting another second, listening for the silence.

“Go!” she commanded.

The two sprinted their way back to a more populated street, passersby gaping with wild eyes at the bloodied women, many of them doing a double take once they recognized the famed editor. Andy finally picked a black SUV, throwing open the door and apologetically tossing its owner to the ground, before getting into the driver’s seat and unlocking the passenger door for Miranda. Once inside, Andy sped through the traffic expertly, making her way out of the city as fast as she could. She noted the cell phone left plugged into the charger, and she picked it up and quickly dialed the number for MI6.

“Where in heaven’s name have you…”

“We were ambushed,” Andy told M, still panting, but trying her best to sound like she had control of the situation. “We were unable to make it to the checkpoint.”

“More casualties?”

“Not ours,” Andy reported. “Miranda’s in pretty rough shape from the crash, but well enough for transit.”

M was silent for a moment on the other end. Andy waited.

“Is she with you now?”

“Yes,” Andy swallowed, looking over at Miranda, who despite the surface wounds, appeared to have the color returning to her cheeks. She could only hope that meant there weren’t any internal injuries.

“Tell her…” M began hesitantly. “Tell her...how sorry I am.”

“She knows,” Andy replied.

“Tell her…” M tried again. “Tell her I still hope to meet my grandchildren someday.”

“I will,” Andy agreed. “Can you tell me where I should…”

“I’ll text the address of the nearest stronghold,” she instructed. “I wouldn’t risk bringing the family together just yet. Go there, allow them to treat your wounds, and then once you hear from me again, I’ll let you know what’s next.”

“Are you safe?” Andy couldn’t help but ask. “Has Bond made any progress finding…”

“I have to go.”

The call ended. Seconds later, the text came through with the address.

“Think you can plug it into the GPS?” Andy asked, handing over the phone.

Miranda nodded her confirmation.

“I’m not a complete Luddite when it comes to these things, you know.”

“Really?” Andy snarked. “Could have fooled me.”

Miranda breathed steadily, pursing her lips again, taking the insult even as she configured the GPS to bring them to their destination.

“How do you feel?” Andy questioned, still incredibly concerned.

“You ask the most inane questions,” Miranda snipped. “Not well.”

Andy reached out, touching Miranda’s stomach just beneath her ribs gently, but with intent. Miranda looked down, mouth opening slightly, but otherwise did not move a muscle.

“What are you…”

“Do you feel any pain when I press there?”

“No,” she told her firmly. “I’m…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she exhaled.

“Good,” Andy pulled her hand away, returning it to the steering wheel. “I’ll have you checked when we get to the base anyhow, just to be certain.”

“Fine,” Miranda rolled her eyes, tracing the edges of her frayed navy stocking against her own knee. “ _Agent_ Sachs.”

Andy couldn’t help but smirk. Part of her could not believe Miranda was still playing along with this game, as serious as it was. Then again, she was just thankful she’d gained her trust.

After arriving at one of the CIA’s underground posts in Jersey City, Miranda and Andy underwent several evaluations. They were X-rayed and bandaged until it was confirmed they would both survive. No internal damage could be found other than a few cracked ribs and a sprained wrist.

“You did the best you could,” Carl, the MI6 operative posted at the base, told Andy as she and Miranda continued to sit in the exam room.

“I beg your pardon?” Miranda cut into the young man, rising from the table. “She has been _exemplary_.”

“Even so,” he continued. “She’s out of her league now.”

“I refuse to be assigned another agent,” Miranda told him flatly. “Andrea is the only person I…”

“That’s not up to you, Ms. Priestly, is it?” he scowled. “You ain’t in charge here. Better get used to it.”

Miranda’s throat tensed as she grit her teeth in the face of his ugliness.

“Meet me in the debriefing room,” he instructed Andy. “Five minutes.”

After he left, Andy closed her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself. Everything was happening so fast.

“I don’t trust him,” Miranda whispered. “They can’t possibly...”

“Yes,” Andy turned to her. “They can.”

Miranda continued to shake her head.

“There must be something...”

“No,” Andy told her again. “There isn’t. If M decides to take me off the case, she can. That’s how it goes.”

“That’s how it goes?” Miranda mocked, scoffing at the younger woman’s sudden lack of confidence, until suddenly, it occurred to her. “Oh. I see.”

“What?” Andy asked her. “What do you see?”

Miranda exhaled, shrugging as she glanced around the room.

“This is your out,” she balked.

“That’s not true,” Andy shook her head.

“You don’t have to act anymore, Andrea,” Miranda practically snarled. “It’s over.”

“No!” Andy slammed her fist against the wall. “No one’s said I _will_ be replaced. Carl is a condescending prick. He doesn’t have the authority to do anything.”

Miranda continued to shift anxiously, cheeks burning as she looked anywhere but at Andy.

“Miranda,” Andy insisted, stepping closer. “Whether you choose to believe it or not...I care.”

Miranda’s eyes darted back, scrutinizing every word.

“Why?” she hissed.

“Because…” Andy struggled. “Because...I can see past the harshness you project to a woman who’s just as scared as everyone else. And yet...you’ve never given up, not even now. You’re strong, but you’re also vulnerable, and kind...surprisingly kind, in ways most people never get to see. But for some reason, the past few months, you’ve shown that side to me a bit more, and it’s been...well...thrilling.”

Miranda looked down at her wrist, twisting it slightly against the bandage, trying not to get swept away.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” Andy whispered.

Miranda sighed.

“Any time anyone’s ever said that to me, it’s been a lie.”

“Not this time,” Andy argued.

“We’ll see,” Miranda sniffed. “You’d better get to your debriefing.”

Andy shook her head as she smirked. She reached out to the older woman’s face, pushing a few silver strands behind her ear, checking out a small cut on her cheek. Miranda’s eyes darted away. Her skin flushed.

“Stay put,” Andrea ordered, trying to channel some of the editor’s directness.

Miranda’s lips curled mildly at the command, mouth opening slightly as Andrea pulled her hand away, leaving the older woman to her own devices.

* * *

 

As Andy approached the debriefing room, she noted how quiet the halls were. Usually there were agents buzzing about, busting each other’s balls as they worked round the clock on their assignments. She had never seen a headquarters so silent, almost entirely abandoned.

Her stomach began to flip as she entered the room. She pulled out a chair at the conference table, waiting for others to join.

“So,” Carl grinned, walking in briskly, alone, wiping the sweat off his brow before throwing a case file down on the table. “Heard from M. She wants Agent Ramirez to take over the case.”

“Ramirez?” Andy questioned. “I’ve never heard of…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. “All that matters is that you fill out the form documenting today’s attacks and head back to England. You’re done.”

“I’ve a right to challenge,” Andy retorted, shaking her head. “I demand to speak to M.”

“Look, kid,” he snarked, placing his hands on the table, towering over her to assert his authority. “You don’t get it. You’re not her pet project anymore, understand? You let fifteen people get killed on your first major assignment. That’s pretty fucked.”

Andy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Yes, she was devastated by the loss of her colleagues at Runway, but her instructions were to protect Miranda above all else, and that’s what she had done. She knew the risks. She’d run scenarios in training where it was made clear that casualties were often inevitable. She knew she’d done all she could under the circumstances.

“I. want to speak. to _M_ ,” she repeated, emphasizing every word, showing she would not be pushed around. “Put her on.”

Carl laughed, turning away for a second, before spinning back around, gun drawn and pointed across the table.

All the breath left Andy’s lungs, but she didn’t budge.

“M’s no longer part of the equation,” he scoffed.

 _Fuck_ , Andy thought. She couldn’t believe her instincts had failed her.

“She’s dead?” Andy inquired, trying to remain steady, remembering the gun she had tucked in the back of her trousers.

“Uh huh,” he smirked. “Or she will be, if she isn’t already.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bitch won’t retire without us making her disappear,” he spat. “Just like she’s disposed of so many of us once she’s through. You would’ve figured it out eventually, but now, since you’ve chosen to be just as difficult…”

He raised the gun a bit higher, cocking it back, finger on the trigger. Andy closed her eyes, and then, heard the shot ring out, echoing through the room. She held her breath for a second, before realizing she was still alive.

Opening her eyes, Andy watched as Carl slumped back against the wall, blood leaving a red streak against the cement. She spun around in her chair, only to find Miranda standing there, looking shocked at what she’d just done, shaking, breathless, still clutching the weapon with both hands, holding it straight out in front of her.

“How did…”

“We have to go,” Miranda told her. “Now.”

Andy nodded, pulling out her own gun, grabbing hold of Miranda’s shoulder as they exited the room. Slinking silently down the hallway, Andy led them to the nearest exit, throwing open the door to the staircase. They made it down several flights before hearing the door above fling open, footsteps furiously following down in pursuit, firing bullets towards them as they ran even faster. Finally, they reached the door to the outside. Andy pushed Miranda ahead, turning back only to shoot the man who’d been on their tail.

Andy pulled the keys to the SUV from her pocket and unlocked the doors, allowing them time to jump in before speeding off through the gate, breaking the wooden facade, pressing her foot against the pedal as hard as she could.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Andy finally spoke, eyes glued to the road, no clue where she was headed.

“What choice did I have?” Miranda argued. “When they came for me, I presumed you were facing the same...”

“Wait, you killed how many?”

“Just two,” Miranda spoke. “Well...not _just._ It was rather unpleasant.”

“Oh my god,” Andy shook her head. “I’m so sorry, I…”

“How could you have known?”

“That’s _my job_!” Andy shrieked, hitting her hands against the steering wheel. “I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around!”

Miranda breathed, bringing her hand to her chest again, closing her eyes, appearing a bit nauseated.

“I did what had to be done.”

“Thank you,” Andy continued to shake. “I just…”

“Should be able to trust that the system isn’t corrupt,” Miranda spoke coolly.

“Even so, I…”

“Thank god I got there in time,” the older woman whispered, hand gripping Andrea’s shoulder almost possessively.

Andy was stunned, by everything.

“I don’t know where to take us,” she told Miranda candidly, trying not to break down. “I don’t...I don’t know if M is still…”

“Try calling,” Miranda insisted.

“They could trace it,” she noted. “I can’t use this phone again. We need to go into hiding.”

“To what end?” Miranda shook her head. “How will they be able to find us if we don’t let them…”

“I can’t worry about that now. We need to simply keep you safe until someone I know I can trust...Bond…”

“May be dead as well,” Miranda pointed out.

“No,” Andy argued. “I have faith in him.”

Miranda’s cheeks burned crimson, clearly wondering just how close Andrea was with the famous playboy spy. Andy quickly cursed herself for wanting to set the record straight, for thinking about such ridiculousness at a time like this.

“Fine,” Miranda swallowed. “But I want my girls.”

“I don’t think that’s…”

“Please,” Miranda almost pleaded. “If we don’t know who we can trust…”

“They’re with an MI6 agent,” Andy interrupted. “Someone I’ve known for years. We cannot risk bringing them with us while Silva’s made you a priority. It isn’t safe.”

Miranda seethed, exhaling sharply, not wanting to give in but knowing Andrea was right.

“We’ll call them as soon as I find us another stronghold,” Andy whispered. “I promise.”

“Very well,” Miranda relented. “And where might that be?”


	4. Chapter 4

Andy didn’t have an answer for where they should go. She’d run out of ideas, surpassed every scenario she’d trained for, that much was clear. She kept driving south for what felt like forever, past more Jersey rest stops than she was sure Miranda had ever seen. It was clear she really was out of her league, that she couldn’t protect Miranda from anything, whether it was an onslaught of bullets, an attempted coup back at Runway, or even the mundanity of their grossly pedestrian surroundings. Miranda didn’t fit in this life, and Andy knew she really didn’t fit in hers. But for right now, this was still her job. She could still hold onto it for a little while longer, and she resolved to make Miranda feel as comfortable as she could until she was eventually relieved of her duties.

Finally, Andy laid eyes on a grim looking motel, not quite condemned, but far from the luxury high rise resorts her boss was used to. It would have to do.

“If you think I’m setting foot in there, you really have lost your mind,” Miranda scowled.

“That’s precisely why we are staying here,” Andy retorted. “No one in a million years would think to find you in a place like this.”

“Point taken,” the older woman sighed.

Andy hit the bell on the reception desk. The lobby walls were wood laminated, the olive carpet stained with coffee drippings from the old percolator sitting cheaply on a nearby desk. The calendar on the wall near the telephone was off by several months, making Andy wonder if anyone else had checked in recently, or if the place wasn’t altogether abandoned. Sensing Miranda’s impatience, she hit the bell again much more urgently.

“I hear ya, I hear ya,” a portly, greaseball of a man finally appeared. “You don’t gotta hit it more than...Geez, you two look like you been through one helluva car chase.”

Miranda stiffened. She’d forgotten her white blouse was speckled red with blood.

“We’re fine,” Andy answered as confidently as she could, turning on the Ohio charm she’d learned to feign so well. “Can we just have a room, please? It’s been a really long day.”

“I believe it, girly,” he smirked, checking her out before turning his eyes to the overheating computer. “Only thing I got’s a one bed.”

“Really?” Miranda mumbled. “Meaning others have actually paid to stay in this hellscape?”

“You want the room or not, lady?”

“We’ll take it,” Andy jumped in again, slapping her Runway credit card down on the counter. “Thank you.”

After making their way up the rusted staircase to the third floor, Andy pulled the key from her pocket. Using her hip to push open the sticky door, she finally pressed inside, flipping on the switch next to the window. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it also wasn’t the filthiest place she’d spent the night either.

Miranda closed the door behind them. The two took in their surroundings silently. Neither had any bags. They hadn’t expected they’d end up like this when they started out for the day. There was nothing to do, no busy work or unpacking, no noise from city streets. The silence was almost deafening.

Miranda peeked inside the restroom, roaming about, making her assessment, before coming back into the living space.

“I don’t suppose we should call the front desk for extra towels,” she sighed.

“I can go ask if you…”

“No,” Miranda answered quickly. “I don’t want you going back there alone. What’s here will have to do.”

“You can shower first,” Andy offered. “If you’d like.”

“Well, I don’t have any of the products I use to make myself look human again once I take this off, but if the alternative is remaining soaked in blood…” she exhaled. “Thank you.”

Miranda disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

As she showered, Andy finally gave in, sprawling out across the seventies floral comforter, it’s tacky sheen scratching against her leather pants, too tired to care what might have gone down in this room before their arrival. She kicked off her shoes, feet aching from the Michael Kors flats Nigel had scrounged up, knowing she was in desperate need of a pedicure. She shuddered at the thought of Miranda seeing her toes in such an unkempt state, paint chipped, red and raw from running.

Of course she knew how silly it was, how accustomed she’d gotten to keeping up her appearance, how comfortable she’d been over the past year as she’d taken pleasure in the finer things in life. Spa treatments. Expensive haircuts. All that was sure to end when she returned to London.

 _If_ she returned to London. Not that her salary at MI6 didn’t afford her those things, she just hadn’t cared much for them before coming to Runway, before meeting Miranda. Suddenly, she felt very sick at the thought of having to leave, something she’d wanted since the day she set foot in the editor’s office. But somewhere along the line, that all had changed. No matter how hard things were, no matter how awful Miranda treated her at times, even when she was ready to leave it behind in Paris, there was a part of her that relished how much easier life was in New York, working in a job that for anyone else would have been far from normal, but for her, was as close to normal as she’d ever been.

She traced her fingers across the comforter, following the diamond patterns sewn into the smarmy fabric, losing herself in thought, until the sound of the bathroom door opening broke her reverie. Steam poured out from the small room, fogging up the vanity just outside it. Miranda slowly came out, one towel wrapped around her body, another smaller towel draped across her shoulders. Her hair was slicked back, it’s silver strands gleaming white against fluorescent lights, skin pink from heat as she sat on the stool across from the mirror.

Even in these grotesque surroundings, Andy thought, Miranda looked like an angel. She was far from the devil everyone made her out to be, from the carefully constructed veil of cruelty she’d learned to don. At the end of the day, she was just a woman. A brilliant, beautiful woman who had worked very hard to get where she was, for her girls, for herself. After all she’d survived to make it this far, she deserved so much better.

Figuring Miranda might want some privacy, Andy forced herself to get up off the bed and quickly made her way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her without a word. She leaned back against the door and swallowed, closing her eyes, trying to forget the way Miranda looked out there, damp and nearly naked just inches behind her.

 _Why now?_ she thought to herself. Clearly, she was flattered knowing the older woman wasn’t repulsed by her after all. In fact, quite the opposite. She’d been prepared for that fact by M. It had been part of the rouse from the get go, though Andy really hadn’t believed it, not once she actually met Miranda, suffering her wrath in the months that followed. But now, knowing it was all true, that M had somehow figured out her daughter's sexuality and capitalized on it, Andy felt guilty, but also something much more unexpected.

She turned the shower on and stepped in, letting the water wash away blood and dirt, combing her fingers through her long, chestnut locks as they stuck to her aching back. Picking up the small bar of hotel soap, she thought about Miranda unwrapping it from its inexpensive paper casing, something that seemed so beneath the woman known for ordering only one specific brand of French body lather, even though it had been off the market for years. She thought of Miranda’s fingers, long, ivory with crimson-painted nails, clutching the soap to her body, letting it slide over her torso, kept in shape by more than a few dearly paid trainers. Andy pressed her own fingers into her eyes, trying to force the image from her brain, continuing to clean herself efficiently while also taking her time, letting the water run cold before finally giving up the delay. She stepped out onto the bath mat, squeezing the excess water from her hair before wrapping herself in just one towel, the only one left since Miranda had stolen the others.

 _Typical_ , she sighed, though she couldn’t bring herself to be mad. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, letting the steam waft into the hotel room.

She stopped immediately when she saw Miranda sitting before her, still perched on the stool in front of the vanity, hunched over the counter, head resting against her forearms as she silently sobbed.

It took all of Andy’s strength not to collapse at the sight. She’d seen Miranda cry once before, that night in Paris when she’d learned about the divorce. But this was different. This was a full-bodied, shoulders shaking, guttural sob, the weeping of a woman whose life had been torn apart, who’d worked so hard to escape the destiny she’d been born into and no doubt felt like she had failed.

As soon as Miranda saw her, she sat up, wiping away her tears, though it took a minute for her body to stop shaking.

“Miranda…”

“Don’t,” Miranda swallowed, pursing her lips while shaking her head. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I…” she truly didn’t know what to say that she hadn’t already. Instead, she fought against her nerves, against prior instincts to leave the woman alone when she showed signs of vulnerability for fear it would translate into harshness, and brought her hand to Miranda’s back, running it across the towel she’d draped over her shoulders, unintentionally sending it to the floor.

“Oh...Miranda...I...I’m so…”

She bent down to pick it up, but was stopped by Miranda’s hands coming to her shoulders. At first, she felt the older woman pushing her away, and began to retreat, until a second later, she felt them pulling her closer instead.

Andy looked up and met Miranda’s eyes, glistening with tears still pooled there, but refusing to fall, bluer than anything she’d ever seen. Miranda’s breath was hot, mixed with the steam swirling around them. Andy felt dizzy, drunk, unable to move, unable to pull herself away. Instead, she brought her hands to Miranda’s face, wiping away salt streams with her thumbs against the smoothest, warmest skin she’d ever touched.

Miranda closed her eyes, allowing Andy to bring all her fingers against the flesh of her cheek. When she opened them again seconds later, she found herself bringing her own hands up from the younger woman’s shoulders to her collarbones, settling there for a moment, thumbs running against the ridges.

“I told myself I’d never…” Miranda whispered.

“Be yourself?” Andrea whispered back, eyelids heavy. “What a shame that would be.”

Miranda pulled their faces together then and kissed Andrea fully, deeply, letting their mouths melt, letting lips rush yet take their time as they slipped over and under each other again and again. Andrea placed her hands on top of Miranda’s, pulling them from her face, wrapping them around her body, before leaning in further, kissing her back like it was the sanest, rightest thing she’d ever done, letting herself believe the lie.

Miranda floated to her feet, their bodies becoming flush, just the thin, white terry cloth between them. Andrea grabbed Miranda again and kissed her hard, lips crashing while her tongue pushed boldly inside. Miranda let her in, circling and sliding her own tongue against Andy’s. Unable to control herself, her hands traveled down the length of Andy’s back, stopping at the dip just above her buttocks, grasping at her waist while pulling her body impossibly closer, feeling the warmth between their hips surge as their feet stumbled together beneath them.

“What am I…how...” Miranda gasped for air, holding on for dear life, refusing to let go, even as her head pounded with fear and uncertainty.

“I know, I...I just...don’t want it to stop…” Andy breathed, kissing Miranda’s cheek, her neck, her ear, running her fingers through her short white hair, wavy as it began to air dry, one wild, wet lock clinging to her cheek. Andy pushed it back with the rest, then returned her lips to Miranda’s neck, sucking against porcelain flesh as she tasted her pulse, feeling electric.

“Ah,” Miranda shivered, eyes closing again, leaning into Andrea’s attack on her throat while pushing her towards the furniture.

Andy felt the back of her knees hit the bed and gave into gravity. Sitting on the edge, she looked up at Miranda, silver and statuesque against the dim lights of the seedy motel room, looking so out of place, and yet so perfect. Her wet, white shoulders glistened, chest rising and falling rapidly as she looked down at her assistant-turned-protector. So many questions remained between them, so many bittersweet memories of hierarchical torment, the power struggle of a woman bent on making those beneath her prove themselves. Now, cut off from the rest of the world and waiting to learn their chances of survival, the distance, the charade, had completely dissolved, leaving Miranda feeling out of control and at the same time, free.

Sensing her hesitation, Andrea looked up into Miranda’s eyes brazenly, confidently, smirking ever so subtly before taking the editor’s hands and bringing them to her own body. Andy traced Miranda’s fingertips along the edge of her towel, her cleavage, daring her to make the next move.

“Andrea…” Miranda swallowed. “You don’t have to…we should...”

“Please,” Andy teased, looking up at Miranda with big brown eyes, lips trembling. “I want you to.”

Miranda exhaled, shaking, though emboldened by Andrea’s command of the situation, feeling its effects somewhere very deep, somewhere she’d refused to ever let anyone truly touch.

“Alright,” she breathed, nodding listlessly as Andy helped her peel back the towel, and Miranda sputtered out a breath at the sight of Andy’s naked body, still dripping wet, the curves of her ample breasts, the dip and sway of her hips as she scooted back onto the bed and laid herself out like an offering.

Miranda, for once, looked speechless, and more than a little scared, even as she ate up the sight before her.

“Well,” Andy swallowed, eyelids fluttering as she fought to keep them open, smoothing her hands down her sides. “Do you like what you see?”

Miranda continued to nod, mute as she bit her lip, her hands coming up to her own neck, blotched with nervous heat as she stared openly at Andy’s breasts, the small, sculpted patch of hair between her thighs. Somehow, Andy felt far less self-conscious than she ever had in front of Miranda in any haute couture or sample from the closet. This, her body, her sexuality, was one of her strengths. She’d used it more times than she could count, sometimes willingly, sometimes less so, in order to get what she needed. But it was hers, and she owned it, knowing it was something she could delight in and give to those who were worthy. And Miranda was.

Andy pushed forward onto her knees, crawling towards the foot of the bed again, grabbing Miranda’s waist. She planted hot, breathy kisses over the towel still covering her stomach, trailing them up as Miranda closed her eyes. Andy skipped her breasts for now, bringing her hands instead to the hem of the towel at Miranda’s chest. She locked eyes with the older woman, who appeared stunned, but more stoic, attempting to hold on to the last threads of the mask she’d worn for way too long, melting under Andy’s softness.

“Let me take care of you,” Andy leaned forward, whispering in Miranda’s ear, nipping the lobe with her teeth. “Please, can I…”

Miranda still refused to speak. Instead, she brought her own hands to her towel, pushing Andy’s away. Andy’s heart fell for half a second, until she heard herself gasp, watching Miranda tug at the white linen, letting it fall away.

Andy was suddenly transformed, all doe eyes and tongue-tied again, only this time it was no act. Her lower lip shivered as she raked over Miranda’s form, the marble of her flawless skin, the goddess that she was. Even in the places where she’d clearly been unable to stop the forces of nature, the creped lines beneath her hips, the faded C-section scar from the twins, she was the most gorgeous thing Andy had ever laid eyes on, even more so because of those tender details that made her human.

Miranda took Andy’s hands and brought them to her breasts, small but ripe, nipples already hard as diamonds, and Andy shut her eyes on instinct, feeling her way instead. She let her thumbs roll over the roughness, stroking until she couldn’t resist taking two handfuls, squeezing gently as she finally heard Miranda make a sound. It was something akin to a sigh, but deeper.

“Do you want me?” Andy breathed, eyes fluttering open again. “Should I…”

“What?” Miranda asked, eyes cold as the sea, slipping up and down Andy’s body, not for the first time. “What exactly do you want to do to me, Andrea?”

“I…” Andy panted, swallowing hard as her eyes brimmed with tears, happy ones for once, defiant against their circumstances. “I just want to make you feel…”

“You do,” Miranda bit her lip, wrapping her arms around her former assistant. “I can assure you...you most certainly do.”

Andy locked her arms around Miranda’s shoulders and kissed her hard, and they both fell backwards onto the bed. Miranda allowed Andy to flip them expertly, leaving Andy on top to kiss and lap and suck in Miranda’s wild, wicked mouth, relishing her sweetness, knowing that after all this time, she must have done something right.

Miranda sat up enough to take hold of one of Andy’s breasts, bringing her lips to it, taking it in her mouth as she teased with her tongue and teeth, and Andy arched back, pelvis pressing into Miranda’s stomach of its own accord. Miranda grabbed the other breast and squeezed, pinching Andrea’s nipple, all the while holding onto her lower back, keeping them drawn together.

“M-miranda…” Andy whined. “I want...please, I…”

Miranda let go then, and Andy took no time in pinning her shoulders to the bed. She repositioned them until she was climbing down the length of Miranda’s body, carving her tongue over her curves like a statue, worshipping every inch of her. Miranda buried her hands in Andy’s hair, sharp nails scraping at her scalp as she tugged, egging the younger woman on as she made her way to the epicenter of her heat. Miranda, miraculously, spread open for her, and Andy let her legs fall behind them as she looked up through hooded lids, asking for permission once more.

“Can I…”

“Yes,” Miranda told her, only with slight impatience. Her skin was completely flushed, eyes shut tight. “Andrea, I need you to…”

 _Need_.

Miranda didn’t just want. She needed.

Andy would have rather died than deny her then, though for the first time in ages, she was truly thankful to be alive.

Andy sank between Miranda’s thighs, urging her to spread them further with long, delicate fingers that had done more destruction in this life than provided pleasure. Her mouth descended on Miranda’s warmth, slick and pink and puckered beneath a barely-there patch of fur.

Miranda was delicious. She smelled just like Andy imagined she would, in the few greedy moments she’d allowed herself to fantasize about such things. But this was better than any fantasy, because Miranda was right here, right beneath her tongue, open and writhing, not asking for anything but to be loved.

Andy knew they might never get to those kinds of declarations. They might not even survive the night if the real devils in this world caught up with them, but right now, right here, Miranda would be loved. Andy made sure of it as she ran her steady tongue up and down through Miranda’s wetness, tasting the truth of her.

“Gaaah…” Miranda groaned, legs kicking as she continued to pull at Andy’s scalp. “An-drea…”

Fueled by the sound of her name, the one Miranda had made stick, Andy licked and kissed her way through Miranda’s folds, admiring their sheer perfection, their earthy, almost metallic succor. She let her tongue rest on the pearl of her clit, trying not to let her mind go blank at the overwhelming reality that she was, in fact, going down on Miranda Priestly, that she was making her moan and move and breathe like this, that she could make her come if she just kept licking.

So she did. She licked and lavished the nub, faster and faster, until the older woman was pulling at the pillow shams, digging into the filthy sheets, neither of them caring at all about anything other than the sound of Miranda coming as she wrapped her ankles around Andy’s neck, and Andy only stopped licking when the sound of Miranda’s breathy moans stopped, her legs going limp.

Andy forcefully pulled off the comforter beneath them, needing it gone as she tucked them both into the linens, draping them over their shaking bodies as they fell back against the bed. She wrapped an arm around Miranda’s middle, kissing her forehead, lying next to her as she listened to her breath take its time evening out.

Minutes felt like days, and Andy had no idea what to say, or if she should even speak. She’d always felt confident after sex, but with Miranda, it was so much more than a cheap fuck in some dirty motel, some con or set up where both parties had ulterior motives. It was the biggest risk she’d ever taken with her heart. And now, she waited.

After another minute or so,  Andy rolled onto her side, ready to face her fears. Miranda lie on her back, eyes closed. She held one hand to her chest, the other tucked somewhere beneath them. Slowly, she turned her neck towards Andy, eyelids opening just barely.

“Hi,” Andy suddenly couldn’t help but speak, grinning like an idiot from ear to ear. She swallowed hard, hearing own own heart beating like a train engine in her ears, holding her breath to see if it would wreck.

Finally, Miranda met her smile, lips unfurling, eyes glistening as cheekbones rose to meet them. She turned more fully towards Andrea, catching herself, letting her lips contract into a sort of pout, almost a purse, but not quite. It was as if she was trying not to laugh, to keep her joy carefully measured.

“What?” Andy finally did laugh, wishing she had better mastery of her own facial expressions. “Are you really going to keep me guessing?”

“What do you mean?” Miranda smirked.

“You…” Andy gaped, sitting up, holding the sheet to her chest. “You know what? Fine. You win. You really don’t understand how it works, do you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” Miranda purred, and it was almost a giggle. She hid half her face against the pillow, rolling her eyes, before reaching out and tracing Andy’s shoulder.

 _Oh dear god thank you_ , Andy prayed internally, exhaling sharply.

“Okay, so are you…”’she continued. “I mean, what are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure I am,” Miranda sighed, and then swallowed. “I spend so much of my time thinking. If I think right now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make heads or tails of any of this.”

“Well that’s just great,” Andy smiled facetiously. “I really appreciate your philosophical take on your own psyche after all this time, but right now, I’m just trying to sort out whether or not I’ve broken you.”

“Broken me?” Miranda laughed again, and she almost snorted. “How could you possibly have done that?”

“I don’t know, Miranda,” Andy’s smiled faded, temperature rising along with her tone. “Maybe because we’re on the run from a pack of criminals who are bent on killing you, forced to hide out in some shithole, and I’ve just…”

“Oh,” Miranda continued smirking, continued stroking. “Oh I see. You’re used to receiving praise after sex, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Andy practically shouted. “Yes, a little praise now and then, a little acknowledgment that I’ve done something good might actually be worth sharing, just this once. Don’t you think?”

“Are you seriously asking me if you did it right?” Miranda rolled a little closer bringing her finger to the bridge of Andy’s nose, tracing it to the very tip, where she tapped it, before cradling her cheek. “Because, I should think, Andrea, the circumstances speak for themselves.”

“I…” Andy was speechless. “I don’t know... I thought…”

“Don’t you see?” Miranda smiled again, just with her eyes this time. “My dear, sweet Andrea. You were right all along”

“Wh-what do you…”

“You said it yourself,” Miranda blinked, and then tilted forward, bringing her lips to Andy’s, kissing her softly, then fervently, before pulling away to speak. “I win.”

“I still don’t…”

“You’re here,” Miranda kissed her cheek, her nose, whispering. “You chose to stay. You brought me to this nightmare of a place and you took care of me. You made me feel things, many things in fact. Things I wasn’t sure I was capable of feeling.”

“Oh,” Andy melted a little, lips curling, eyes closing beneath Miranda’s soft kisses. “Oh.”

“And so your questions are superfluous really,” Miranda swallowed. “But I can understand wanting to hear them aloud. Still I...I don’t have all the answers. All I can tell you is that I’m a little less scared than I was before, because you took care of me. Because you’re still here. And you’re not going anywhere, right?”

“Right,” Andy swallowed, not sure whether or not that would turn out to be another lie. “Miranda, I…”

“You were very good, Andrea,” Miranda licked her lips, and Andy thought she might lose consciousness at the feeling of Miranda’s fingers tracing their way down her stomach. “You’ve always been very good at what you do, even if I haven’t always told you so.”

“But you…” Andy kissed her again, letting her teeth drag across Miranda’s lower lip. “You’re not just saying that? Because I… I know in the beginning I fucked up, because I wasn’t…I didn’t know how good this life could be if I just…”

“Shhh,” Miranda slipped one long, luxurious digit between Andy’s thighs, begging her to open them. “You don’t have to apologize. You did your job. You did it so very well, and you’re still here.”

Andy rolled onto her back then, spreading open.

“I know I haven’t always been fair,” Miranda told her, letting her fingers stall just inches from where Andy needed them. “I know it’s not always easy, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you sticking by me through everything. No one has ever stuck by me. If it wasn’t because of me, it’s...it was everything else, around me. I guess that’s the price we pay, women, for success. But don’t for a second think you haven’t been exceptional, that I haven’t enjoyed every second of our time together, even when I was less than kind. I’m thankful for you, Andrea. I thank you.”

“Thank you,” Andy sniffed, tears pouring into the pillow as they swept down either side of her face. “Miranda, I…”

“How can I thank you?” Miranda dipped her long, patrician nose forward, nuzzling it against Andy’s, and the tenderness made Andy’s knees so weak, she was very lucky she wasn’t standing. “Will you let me…”

“Yes, please,” Andy nodded furiously. “Oh, please Miranda. Please, make me…”

Miranda pressed her fingers into the well of Andy’s slickness, just barely at first, testing the waters. She dipped in half an inch, pulling back out, her own breath and throat conspiring to reveal just how turned on she was. Andy rolled her hips forward encouragingly, and Miranda ventured back in, pushing all the way inside this time, and Andy felt the burn she’d been kindling burst into flames, smoldering, eating her alive from the inside out.

“Oh god…” she ached, closing her eyes, opening them again as Miranda began to move her fingers, not wanting to miss a second. “Ma...oh god, Miranda, yes…”

Andy watched in awe as Miranda pumped, her short, silver mane bouncing as she slipped in and out, using all her strength to match Andy’s speed as she impaled herself, over and over, fucking Miranda back just as firmly as she was being fucked. Andy’s own breasts heaved, and Miranda kissed them, kissed her, licked and nuzzled, held her down as Andy’s hips lifted for an even better angle. She knew she wouldn’t last long, but it was far too soon before her body began to claim its release, mouth opening wide, face contorting as Miranda’s nose and hair brushed all too lightly against her skin, fingers curling furtively, making Andy see stars.

When she was done, Andy slowed the speed of her hips, and Miranda retracted. Andy unsank her teeth from Miranda’s shoulder, and the two fell back against the bed again, both of them reaching, tangling limbs until they were holding each other, afraid of letting go too soon.

Miranda pulled back first, just enough so she could see Andy’s eyes, and Andy was glad for it. She ran her hand down the side of Miranda’s sweaty cheek, tracing fingers through damp hair as she kissed her again, lazily, until their lips were chapped, and they just lie next to each other in silence.

“Thank you,” Andy repeated.

“Don’t thank me,” Miranda rolled her eyes. “It’s the least I could do.”

“It was definitely not the least,” Andy teased, tapping the tip of Miranda’s nose, returning the gesture.

“Alright, Agent Sachs,” Miranda smirked, even as the sadness, the fear, began returning to her eyes. “What now?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Andy shook her head. “If I knew, I promise you’d be the first I’d tell.”

“Promise me,” Miranda spoke somberly, her eyes almost hollow, voice the timbre it was that night back in Paris, the only other time Andy had seen her cry. “When this is all over, no matter what happens, you’ll be safe.”

“I can’t,” Andy whispered. “You know I can’t.”

“Lie to me then,” Miranda practically pleaded. “Tell me you’ll move on to some other career, something that deserves you. This is no job for a person with your...charisma. Your charm. You’re a smart girl, Andrea. You could have anything if you really…”

“I’m a smart _woman_ , and I’ve chosen this life because I did want something better for myself,” Andy reminded. “Even if M hadn’t rescued me, I’d have found a way to rescue myself. I’m no damsel. I don’t need saving.”

“I know,” Miranda sighed, shaking her head as she rubbed her eyes. “Clearly that’s true.”

“But I can tell you…” Andy started, almost thinking better of it. “If I do end up somewhere else, other than right back where I started, I…”

The phone rang then, sending its shrill echo through the room. Both of them jumped, and Andy pressed up on both elbows, reaching over Miranda to the nightstand, lifting the receiver. She pulled the cord across the sheets, taking a deep breath, before answering.

“Hello?”

“Good to hear your voice,” the familiar man greeted her from across the pond. “I take it this means you’re alive?”

“James,” Andy swallowed. Miranda shot up next to her, holding the sheets to her chest. “How did you know where I…”

“I have eyes where I need them,” Bond assured.

Andy cleared her throat, turning her back towards Miranda, attempting to shield her from unnecessary details.

“What’s our status?”

“Clear. Silva’s been eliminated. M…”

Andy closed her eyes, covering the receiver with her hand, heart leaping into her throat.

“Is she…”

“Almost,” Bond relayed. “She’s been airlifted to a hospital back home. I got to her in the nick of time.”

“Good,” Andy began breathing again. “You always do.”

“And Miranda?”

“Safe,” Andy told him quickly. “Everyone’s fine on this end. The girls?”

“All’s well,” James confirmed. “You can return home as soon as you’re ready. We’ll be waiting.”

“Right. Yes, okay. Thank you, James.”

“Well done, Six. See you soon.”

The line went dead. Andy’s mouth hung open.

“Six? _”_ Miranda scowled behind her. “How did he…”

“You heard that?” Andy sighed, returning the receiver to its cradle, falling back into the nook of Miranda’s arms. “It’s entirely possible M had James watching me this whole time, backup in case I really couldn’t handle my first assignment. Either that or Nigel is also a spy.”

“Ha,” Miranda chortled. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Miranda,” Andy swallowed. “It appears...I don’t know how bad it is, but M…”

“I know,” Miranda squeezed Andy’s shoulder. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Certainly won’t be the last.”

Andy hoped that was true. M was her only steadfast support, her only real family. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. She had to be okay. She’d recover, bounce back, like always.

“So that’s all?” Miranda asked. “I go back home to face whatever’s left of Runway, wait for the girls? Start to put things back the way they should be?”

“It appears so,” Andy swallowed, smoothing her hand across Miranda’s chest, tucking the top of her head a little deeper beneath her chin. “They’ll want me to debrief as soon as…”

“You’re rid of me?” Miranda teased half-heartedly.

“Stop,” Andy shook her head. “You know that’s not what I…”

“Want? No, it might not be what you want, Andrea. But you know as well as I do...we don’t always get what we want.”

“Are you going to start singing to me?” Andy joked, voice hoarse from the effort to restrain the onslaught of emotions rising to the surface.

“Maybe,” Miranda whispered. “If only to keep from crying. Again.”

Andy lifted herself up, sitting cross-legged as she faced Miranda, taking her hand.

“Please don’t let this drag on,” Miranda pulled away. “Not if it’s meant to be the end. I know I may seem impenetrable, but trust me...I am not made of steel.”

“I know that,” Andy traced the sheets between them. “The truth is, Miranda, I...I couldn’t live with myself if I put you or the girls in danger. I couldn’t…”

“Don’t make excuses,” Miranda shook her head. “We’ll always be vulnerable because of who I am, where I come from, whether I like it or not. That part has nothing to do with you.”

“But I could make it worse,” Andy bit her lip. “The people who stole that list of MI6 operatives...they have my name. They could come for me at any time, me or the people I...”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Miranda shrugged, stealing her gaze towards the window.

“Hey,” Andy reached out, taking her chin, turning it back to face her. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. If I...if M would let me go, I could…”

“Let go, Andrea,” Miranda swallowed. “It’s the only way.”

“But what if…” Andy started again. “What if I don’t want that life? What if this is the life I want?”

“It’s your choice,” Miranda finally met her eyes again, and Andy could see she was far from indifferent. There was fear there, and pain, no doubt tied to the past, to the field agent she’d fallen in love with when she was so young, only to have it ripped away. “I can’t make it for you, and I certainly can’t intercede where my mother’s concerned. If you want this life...you’ll have to choose for yourself.”

“But you’d…” Andy felt herself crumble. She sniffed, squinting up at the ceiling, fighting back tears before returning her gaze to Miranda, looking at her not as a spy, not as the girl who won the job a million other girls would kill for, but as a woman who knew very little about who she really was when all the masks and disguises, all the espionage and baggage fell away. “If I did what I had to do...to stay...would you…”

“Give you your job back?” Miranda teased. “I suppose. So long as you promise we really have seen the last of those polyester blends you were once so fond of.”

“Oh god,” Andy cringed, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “I really didn’t have a clue what I was doing back then, did I?”

“Well,” Miranda smiled, snorting a little as she curled her arm beneath her head, perched like a cat. “At least you learned something.”  
  
Andy laid down next to her, reaching for Miranda’s hand, hoping against hope she wouldn’t pull it away this time. When she didn’t, Andy scooted in, bringing their noses together. Miranda tipped her chin forward, catching Andy’s lips before she could ever lose them.

They kissed like it was the first time, soft and hesitant, then hurried, like it might also be the last. When they were both breathless, they continued to lie there for the remainder of the night, no sleep, no questions, hoping that in the morning the answers would come.


	5. Chapter 5

The London streets weren’t nearly as loud as the ones in New York. Andy missed the noise. She would have given anything to be back in her tiny Lower East Side apartment, curled up with a good book next to the space heater that was always on the fritz, listening to her neighbors argue out on the stoop as she disappeared into another world where everything was much less complicated.

But what the London streets lacked in noise they made up for in decadent smells, vibrant hues and sights that reminded her of home, or perhaps a series of memories she had cobbled together instead of home. It wasn’t a place really, more like a feeling that was always fleeting, an outline of some fantasy she’d never had the time or resources to color in.

This cafe was one such memory. The lattes there were heaven, the pastries divine, and she could eat them now that she no longer worked at Runway. She and M had met there several times in the early years, back when Andy still wasn’t sure about trading a life of crime on her own terms for one that involved no less risk of death, just someone else calling the shots. Where she traveled, what she stole and who she killed were all orchestrated by the woman who she waited for now, the woman who had given her some level of peace, even if it never did last. 

When she returned to London for the debriefing, Andy learned from Bond just how bad M’s injuries were. She’d been hit by shrapnel from a shoddy bomb constructed at Skyfall, nearly bleeding out in the family chapel. Bond terminated Silva and his men before carrying M on his back for thirteen miles, until he was able to get to a phone and call in reinforcements. 

Andy held it together as best she could in the hospital, sitting by M’s bedside, trying to remind herself that the doctor’s said she had a fighting chance despite the bleak picture painted by the wires and tubes keeping her alive. It took another month before she was transferred to a rehabilitation facility, and several more weeks before she could return home. Her future at MI6 was still uncertain.

“The ladies room leaves much to be desired,” Miranda lowered into her chair dramatically, slipping on her leather gloves as if they’d protect her from catching something. “I thought you said this place would take my breath away, and yet here I am. Still breathing.”

“No, see, I said the  _ croissants _ would,” Andy smirked, scooting her chair closer, stealthily running her hand up the small of Miranda’s back before linking their arms. “Come on. You have to get into the spirit of things! Let it inspire you. Maybe the Runway food section could do a piece on…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miranda scoffed. “I really don’t see our editors giving it a second glance.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Andy shook her head. “There’s so much more than meets the eye. You just have to look a bit harder.”

“Whatever you say, Agent Sachs.”

“Okay,” Andy threw up her hands, reaching into the paper bag full of goodies she’d scored, presenting one of the treasures. “Just taste this kouign-amann and I promise, your life will be changed.”

Miranda ignored her at first, narrowing her cobalt eyes, using her free hand to scrape at the linoleum table, chipping from years of use. Andy knew she was nervous. This whole experience was so outside Miranda’s comfort zone, but she had made an effort, until now.

“Go on,” Andy waved the flaky, golden tart in front of her nose. “Please? For me?”

Miranda sighed, shaking out her silver coiffure as she leaned forward reluctantly, deigning to take a bite. She shut her eyes then, inhaling sharply as the butter coated her tongue, apricot hitting all the right taste buds, and Andy knew she had her.

“See?” the brunette laughed a little, offering a napkin. “Told you so.”

“Yes,” Miranda dabbed at pursed lips. “And you’re so very modest about it.”

“I know today is hard,” Andy laced their fingers sweetly, pulling them protectively into her lap. “It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Miranda breathed, staring out the window, even as she squeezed Andy’s hand a little more firmly.

“I got her the pistachio macaroons,” Andy pulled another bag from her purse. “They’re her favorite, you know.”

“Did you?” Miranda teased through a smirk. “And must you cater to her every whim?” 

“Gee,” Andy grinned. “I wonder where I learned that from?”   


Miranda shook her head, unable to stop herself from chuckling softly. Andy boldly kissed her cheek, lingering a moment, breathing in the scent of Chanel and leather, the lavender and lily shampoo that was distinctly, perfectly Miranda. The older woman nudged her slightly, pushing her away before tilting her head just an inch or so, enough to let their noses touch, before turning shyly back towards the window. 

Andy had left New York the very next day after Bond gave the all clear. It was painful, but she felt it better to rip the band-aid off and go back to London before she got too comfortable in a life that wasn’t yet hers. She and Miranda parted on decent terms, though Andy could already tell Miranda was starting to rebuild the walls between them, her coldness as they said goodbye coming from a place of pure self-preservation. When Andy returned weeks later, conspiring with Emily and Nigel to surprise Miranda one morning, clearing her schedule of anything else, Andy half expected to be received with the same coldness, if not outright turned away. 

Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe it really was too good to be true, the desperate act of two people on the edge, ready to risk everything if it meant their world was ending. When it hadn’t ended, perhaps Miranda thought better of it all. Perhaps she wasn’t willing to risk her reputation further. Andy could understand that. The press was already hounding Miranda about the attack. Being outed as gay, seen with a much younger woman would only further cement the idea in some people’s minds that she was on the outs in the fashion world, making way for someone new, and far less talented, to take over.

But Andy held on to some glimmer of hope, and she was glad she did, because Miranda didn’t turn her away. In fact, the moment she looked up and saw her former assistant-turned-spy-turned lover waltz in through those glass doors, she shouted at Emily to go run some pointless errand and to hold all her calls. 

Andy stood in front of Miranda’s desk, waiting for the verdict, only to be swept immediately into the ensuite restroom, stripped down to nothing as the two said more with their bodies than their words ever could. There would be time for words later. 

_ “Are you here to stay?” Miranda huffed, all the while making quick work of Andy’s trousers, sucking at her neck, pressing her back against the mirror. _

_ “I am,” Andy blinked, tears falling freely as she grabbed Miranda’s ass, flipping them around, hoisting her onto the counter. “For as long as you’ll have me.” _

That was three months ago, and Miranda was still having her. 

They’d taken to meeting up after work at Andy’s new flat in the West Village, or at Miranda’s townhouse when the girls were with Greg. It was all so new. There were so many questions still unanswered, but one thing was clear: Miranda was enjoying it just as much as Andy, reveling in every single moment.

“There she is,” Miranda spoke so softly, it was almost a whisper. Andy turned to face the window, just as M was shutting the door to the town car and stepping onto the curb. She paused, adjusting her peacoat, pulling it tighter as she removed her dark sunglasses, stuffing them in her pocket along with her hands as one of her security details held the door open, and she made her way inside.

Andy stood, and much to her surprise, Miranda did too. M slowly approached them, still limping a little as she continued to heal, though she looked a million times better than the last Andy saw her.

“Hello, Miranda,” M smiled hesitantly, keeping her distance. 

“Hello, mother,” Miranda breathed.

M took another step closer, looking her daughter up and down as if she were assessing an operative’s readiness for the field. Miranda allowed this, until finally, M closed the distance between them. Miranda shut her eyes, accepting M’s kiss on either cheek, and the two held each other at arm’s length, not so much a hug, but it was a start.

Andy was astonished by the decorum, though not entirely surprised. She was just thankful they weren’t already engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

“Agent Sachs,” M greeted her next, taking Andy’s hands in her own, holding them tightly. “It pains me to see you go. You would have grown into a very fine operative one day, not that you haven’t already proven your prowess.”

“Thank you, M,” Andy swallowed. She’d asked 007 to watch her back until she and M could sort out how she could leave the profession, knowing it would be difficult, but worth it. The details were still left to be managed, but Andy was well on her way to freedom. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Nonsense,” M smiled, turning towards Miranda very somberly. “I took someone away from my daughter once. It’s one of the only regrets I have.”

Miranda stood there, frozen. Her eyes were red, threatening to reveal just how thankful she was for this reunion, for the chance to put the past behind them.

“I’m just so happy I can finally set some things right, after all this time,” M swallowed, refusing to get choked up. “Anyhow. It’s very good to see you both. How was your flight?”

“Uneventful,” Miranda shared, and they took their seats. “A godsend after last month’s debacle in Milan. My new assistant is even less capable than the last three temps I’ve had to let go.”

Andy scrunched her nose, trying not to take pleasure in how hard Miranda was finding it to replace her.

“Well, that’s good then,” M smiled. “Onto more important things. How are my grandchildren? I do hope they’re behaving themselves. I should like to come and visit one day, once the doctors clear me for travel abroad.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Miranda chilled, reaching for a sip of her coffee. “One day at a time.”

“Right,” M nodded, giving Andy a look that meant ‘help.’

“You’re welcome to stay with me if you’d like,” Andy shared. “There’s a great Thai place next to my flat. I know what a penchant you have for mee grob.”

“She will do no such thing,” Miranda interjected abhorrently, and Andy feared for a moment everything might still go to shit much faster than anticipated. “There’s plenty of room for her uptown, with me. For both of you.”

Andy bit her lip hard, cheeks pinking at the not-so-coded offer. 

Miranda blushed too, apparently shocked by her own generosity. 

“That would be lovely,” M smiled back. “But like you said, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Tell me about work, and the twins. I want to hear everything.”

Andy watched as they caught up, the two women who had changed her life in so many ways, who she loved more than she could even begin to say. But there was time, in fact, for all of that. Because Miranda was here, and so was M. They were here to stay, to make more memories, to carve out a new meaning of home.


End file.
